


English Rose

by TheRedWulf



Series: Stansa One Shots [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baratheon babies, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Laird - Freeform, Medieval, Sassenach!Sansa, Scotland, Scottish!Stanis, Smut, highlands, plot holes, stansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 01:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20201461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - In which Laird Stannis Baratheon comes to the rescue of an English rose...Picset is viewableHERE





	English Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iheartloki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iheartloki/gifts).

> Another one shot where I got absolutely carried away...
> 
> Thank you to 'iheartloki' for requesting/suggesting some Scottish Stannis!
> 
> I have maxed out the rating, for reasons. This is just an excuse for smut.  
For the 300th time I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

_Faster_ Sansa urged her make-shift mount, doing her best to hold on to the horse's mane as she rode bare-back through the woods. She had no idea where she was, she had been separated from everyone in the fray and she had only been able to grab the closest horse and run. A clearing came suddenly and she felt the horse speed its legs, eating up the distance as she fled.

Pain radiated through her with each hoofbeat, the arrow in her shoulder blade biting deeper and deeper into the bone. Though she could not remember exactly when it had hit her, she could see the shaft and feathers of the arrow over her shoulder as she turned back to watch behind her. It had been chaos, their carriage and escort descended upon by bandits and all she could hear was screaming. War cries, the choke of death and then the order to run. RUN!

Her uncle, Lord Edmure Tully the Viscount of Riverrun had been escorting her home from visiting her cousin in the Highlands of Scotland, back to Winterfell in the North of England when it happened, and now she had no idea where she was or how she was going to get home. The Scottish Highlands, Gods, she could have cried. She was so far from home.

_Stupid Sansa_ she could hear Arya’s sneer in her mind. _Princess Sansa the Stupid cannot save herself!_ Now Sansa wished she had listened to Arya when she talked about weapons. She had been to focused on her sewing to care. Ever the perfect lady, Sansa was in a dress of deep green, almost black, her cloak billowing behind her as she flew across the field. 

Shouts reached her and she turned to see the men cresting the hill behind her. Her heart screamed in fear as she turned the mount abruptly to the treeline once more in hopes of evading them and found herself riding along a creek, hills all around her.

“No” she looked around her for an escape but in that moment her horse stumbled and fell, sending her to the creek and jarring the arrow in the back of her shoulder. She screamed in pain, the cold water cutting through her, choking her. Standing she coughed the water from her lungs, though she was soaked through she forced herself to move, running up the hill and into the field. To her right the bandits broke the tree line, the three men yelling at her as she ran. 

Suddenly the blood-chilling scream of a warhorse reached her and she turned to see the largest man and horse she had ever seen come through the opposite side of the clearing. He wore a great kilt of deep black and gold, his large chest encased in a loose linen shirt that moved in the wind as he rode toward her. While the hair on his head was shorn nearly bald he had a black and grey beard that told her this man was no green boy.

“Gurl!” he yelled. “Come na gurl! Grab on ta mae!” his voice was deep, brogue thick as he called to her. She turned to see him riding towards her at breakneck speed. He leaned from the saddle, never slowing his pace and lowered his arm to her. 

Glancing once more at the bandits she said a quick prayer to the Warrior and turned and latched onto the large highlander as he reached her. In a blur she was on the horse behind him, clinging to his strong frame as the white destrier carried them away. She clung to his warmth, her dress soaked from the creek sending shivers through her body and she did her best not to sob in pain and fear. 

Turning back she saw the bandits slow and stop, their forms vanishing as they reached the woods once more. Safe! She was safe!

They rode for a while, perhaps a half an hour before he reached another clearing and slowed to a stop beside a fallen tree. Sansa watched him smoothly dismount, but as soon as his support was gone she found her body was too weak to hold her up. Vision swimming she began to pitch from the horse, landing in his strong hold once more. 

“Aye lass, yer alright na” his voice was deep and she was able to look up at the darkest blue eyes she had ever seen before everything went black. 

Stannis sighed heavily as the woman went limp in his arms. He had been hunting in the woods, trying to grab a bit more meat before the coming storm came across the land. He had just taken aim with his bow when the screams reached his ears and he rode like the seven hells to see what was happening. He reached MacGregor’s clearing in time to see a fire-haired woman running, arrow in her shoulder as three men on horses ran her down. 

He hadn’t stopped to think, he had only spurred his mount forward, running to her aid. He silently prayed she would trust him, at least more than the men running her down and she had, grabbing ahold of him as he rode by. 

As she clung to him he could feel the cold of her wet grown behind him, the pained pants of her breath as she fought sobs. Once he was sure he’d ridden far enough back onto his own land he stopped to rest his horse and see to the arrow in her shoulder. 

Sliding to the ground he turned to see her sway and then collapse into his arms. Lowering her to the grass on her side he realize then that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Porcelain skin and fiery hair gleamed against the deep green of her gown. She wore no plaid, no broach and he assumed she was an English rose, one sent to torture him. 

For the past several years his men and advisors had done naught but encourage him to find a bride, to wed and provide his family line with an heir that could carry on the name Baratheon. Stannis had done well to avoid matrimony for his 43 years, fighting the wars against the English crown and then their own rebellion kept him busy. A neighboring clan, the Florents were pushing their daughter at him but he had staunchly refused. 

_ “Ye must wed” Stannis’ oldest friend Davos told him. “An’ soon. Ye cannae wait for tha Gods ta drop a beau’iful lass in yer lap.” _

Ironic now, Stannis scoffed to himself. 

He had never seen a woman like her, so beautiful and elegant, even in sleep. She was strong, he decided, running despite the arrow in her shoulder. Determined to survive and escape. His eyes went then to the elaborate embroidery across the waist of her gown and the sinister direwolf staring back at him. 

_Gods_ he choked on his thoughts. Only one family in the known world wore direwolves, the Starks. Lord Eddard Stark, Duke of Winterfell and Slayer of Kings, one of the most feared Englishmen in the realm. Story told he rode into battle alongside giant wolves to bring the Mad King to heel in England. His name inspired fear and if this woman was his blood, then Lord Stark would bring down the seven hells to find her.

Frowning deeply, he focused on the task at hand. It was better that she had fainted, he noted as he discarded her bloody cloak, cut the back of her gown and quickly removed the arrow from her shoulder. Bandaging her wound he lay her on her back, the fire of her hair spilling across the grass. She was the Maiden made real, he brushed a curl from her face before turning away to pull his coat from his saddle bag to cover her. 

They were only an hour’s ride from Storm’s End, his massive keep along the rocky shores of Loch Cressen, but he’d wanted to make sure that the bleeding on her wound was under control before they continued. They would be expecting him at the keep and there a maid would be able to help the woman to bathe and dress. If she did not warm up soon she would catch a chill and wither away. 

Moving quickly he rearranged his saddle to make space for them both. As he worked, her soft whimper reached his ears and he turned to see her wiping the tears from her face as she tried to sit up. 

“Easy Lass” he soothed her, moving to help her sit. She gave a soft protest of pain but then she turned to face him and he looked into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Bright and swimming with emotion, her eyes reminded him of the sky after the first rain, clean and clear. She looked him over, from the bald head he kept shorn short and thick beard to the open collar of his linen shirt where her eyes lingered on the dark chest hair before moving to his plaid. 

“Baratheon?” she asked softly, her accent crisp and elegant. English, a Sassenach just as he predicted. 

“Aye” he gave a nod. “Laird Stannis Baratheon of Storm’s End.”

“I met your brother once” she mused. 

“I am verra sorra ta hear tha” he smirked and she laughed softly before wincing in pain. 

“I am Sansa Stark” she told him. “Lord Stark’s daughter.”

“I figured ye were a Stark from tha direwolf at yer waist” he nodded. “I willnae hurt ye.”

“No” she nodded slowly, glancing down to see his coat across her lap. “I know.”

“Come” he took the coat and wrapped it over her slender shoulders, the thick wool dwarfing her frame. He was much larger than her, as most Highlanders were of slender English beauties.

Once she was ready he lifted her back to the front of his saddle, settling her across the horse’s withers before climbing up behind her. She was warm against his chest, her hair while damp, had started drying in thick ringlets that smelled faintly of rose oil. Grabbing his spare plaid from the pack he wrapped it around her and himself, their shared warmth would ward off the chill of evening air as it grew colder. 

“Thank you, My Lord” she leaned against him, as he turned his horse home. 

They rode in silence and soon she sagged against him in slumber, her face nestled into the fabric of his waistcoat. She was a right bonnie lass, Lady Sansa Stark, and the feel of her snuggled against his body was already testing his legendary control. 

Clenching his jaw he focused on the road home, bracing himself for Davos’ reaction when he rode through the gates with a lady on his lap, wrapped in his plaid. 

Davos heard the commotion in the courtyard and emerged from the keep to see Laird Stannis ride in, a red headed lass across his lap. 

“Buggerin' 'ells” he laughed, moving to his friend's side. “Ye kidnapped a wife then?” 

“She’s asleep” Stannis replied softly. “Lord Stark’s daughter. I found ‘er in the clearin, bein’ chased by Bolton men.”

“Is she hurt?” Davos asked, frowning at the serious look in his friends eyes. 

“An arrow ta the shoulder” Stannis gently tightened the plaid around her. “Hold ‘er” he said and Davos moved forward to hold her steady. Stannis deftly dismounted before turning and pulling the girl into his arms. Though asleep, or mostly so, the girl wrapped her arms around Stannis neck and settled against him as the Laird carried her toward the keep. Davos followed, unable to turn away from the shocking sight of Stannis being...well, warm.

“Send a raven ta Lord Stark” Stannis told him as they walked. 

“Aye” Davos looked to the sky. “Snow is a comin” he reminded his friend. 

“I ken it” Stannis gave a curt nod. “Send tha raven” he carried the girl into the keep, moving to the stairs. “And send a maid to mah chambers” he called back to him and Davos watched Stannis go, the picture perfect sight of a man rescuing a fair maiden. 

“Was tha a lass?” Davos’ eldest son Matthos joined him, staring after the Laird. 

“Aye” Davos chuckled. “And if tha snows come, she will be wit us a while.”

“Lady Sansa” the thick brogue broke into her slumber and she woke to see the Laird as he set her on a plush bed of furs. “I’ve sent fo a maid ta help ye” he assured her as he moved back. “A bath an clothes for ye.”

“Thank you, My Lord” she gingerly sat up, the pain in her shoulder sharp. 

“I have sent word to yer father” he told her. “But the storm’s are a comin’, t’may be a while before he can reach ye.”

“You are very kind” she watched as he moved to the fire, adding logs and stoking the embers to life once more. He was the tallest man she had ever seen, broad and lean, honed by war if she had to guess. It was shocking to see his bare legs beneath his kilt, the muscles flexing as he moved. She hadn’t noticed the sword on his belt before, nor the large stag broach on his shoulder. 

He looked, she decided, like one of the ‘Ancient Celtic’ warriors she and Jeyne had read about when they were girls. Large, fierce men who ruled the Highlands and stole their wives away to devour them. She felt her cheeks heat at the unbidden thought of being devoured by this man. She had survived the King’s Court in London but never had a man made her feel so out of control. The arrow wound, perhaps, she told herself. It must be.

He was not unhandsome, in truth he was very imposing and striking. His beard was well kept, black liberally threaded with silver and his head had a very short layer of grey hair atop it. It made him look older than he was, which was possibly early 40s, but she could not be sure. She watched him pour her a cup of amber liquid. 

“A wee drink” he handed her the cup. “T’will warm ye.”

“Thank you” she took is gratefully sipping slowly. He was right, she could feel the bitter liquid burn down her throat. She glanced around the room and realized that she was in _his_ room and she choked covering her mouth as she cleared her throat. Why was she in his room? Would his wife soon arrive? She frowned to herself and when a figure came through the door she felt her heart clench then relax. 

“Lord Stark has been informed” the grey haired man told the Laird. 

“Lady Sansa, Ser Davos” Stannis told her. 

“M’lady” Davos gave a nod. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ser Davos” she smiled. 

“I heard ye had a run in wit tha Boltons” Davos said sadly. 

“Is that who they were?” she asked. “They came on so suddenly, I grabbed the first horse I could and ran.”

Stannis turned to look at her, “Ye had a horse?”

“One of the carriage team” she replied with a soft smile. “I cut him loose and ran. I rode down the creek and it fell, I ended up in the water.”

“Ah” Stannis nodded. 

“I am very grateful for your arrival, I owe you my life,” she told the Laird, feeling her cheeks burn. 

Before any more words could be spoken, a maid appeared in the doorway, a dark haired man behind her carrying a metal tub. 

“A bath then” Stannis gave her a nod. “I shall leave ye to it.”

“Thank you, My Lord” she carefully stood, smiling after him. 

“What are ye doin’ then” Davos watched him closely, a smirk on his face as they sat at the table in the great hall. 

“Wha?” Stannis’ eyes narrowed.

“Tha lass” Davos sipped his wine. 

“I donnae ken wha' yer---”

“Aye you do” Davos cut him off and Stannis ground his back teeth. “She’s verra bonnie.”

“Davos” Stannis warned. 

“I donnae ken if Lord Stark will give her ta ye, but ye can---”

“I would be a fool ta think Lord Stark ‘ill give me his daughter” Stannis glared at his friend.

“Lucky for ye, the snows have come an’ you’ll have plenty o’ time ta spend wit her” Davos smiled once more, sipping his wine. 

Stannis did not reply, merely sippied his watered wine and pinched the bridge of his nose. Davos knew him too well, it seemed, as Stannis’ mind was already filled with the beautiful woman he had plucked from the fields. She was young, beautiful and brave, and he would never be able to forget how it felt to hold her against him, her slender form sleeping against his in complete trust. 

The noise in the great hall fell silent and he looked up to see Lady Sansa enter the room, clad now in a deep golden gown, her hair clean and shining in the light, a gold circlet over her forehead and a golden belt at her slim waist. Stannis could have swallowed his tongue as her eyes searched for him and when they found him, she smiled brightly. 

Standing quickly, he moved to her side, offering her his arm to escort her to her chair for the evening meal. 

“Thank you, My Lord” she said as he helped her to sit before sitting beside her at the table’s end. 

“How is yer shoulder?” he asked. 

“Sore” she replied with a smile as a servant poured her wine. He was surprised to see her thank the servant, something he had not expected of a Lady. “But it no longer has a Bolton arrow in it, so I cannot complain.”

“Indeed” Davos raised his glass in agreement and she laughed softly. 

In truth, she was not at all what he expected of an English lady. She was polite, kind and humble, her smile easy and genuine. Stannis looked away from her to see Davos watching him with a smirk and he frowned, _bloody Davos_. 

When dinner, a thick venison stew was served they ate as they shared companionable conversation, Davos entertaining Sansa with anecdotal stories, her occasionally looking to Stannis with something in her eyes he could not place. 

“And you, My Lord?” Sansa asked as Davos spoke of his wife. “You are not wed?”

“I am no',” he told her. 

“He should be” Davos chuckled. 

“Ach” Stannis scoffed and Sansa laughed. 

“Ach” she attempted to imitate the word but only made herself laugh once more. “I should like to use such a declaration with my siblings. Ach!” 

“Ye will have plenty o’ time ta learn” Davos nodded. “The snow’s have come and tis like ta be close ta a moon’s turn ‘fore yer father can arrive.”

“The snows?” she asked. “I love the snow, Winterfell is covered with it most of the year. I adore it.”

“Then I will show ye the snows from tha tower, ‘tis tha best view” Stannis said before he could stop himself. 

“I should like that, My Lord” she smiled brightly and Stannis felt his gut clench. 

Sansa pulled the plaid shawl tighter around her shoulders as she stood beside the Laird, watching the heavy snowfall from the tower’s vantage point. The snow made no sound and she could hear the large man beside her as he breathed. He wore his coat now, the one that had kept her warm earlier, and he looked impossibly big in the large window. Her height barely reached his chest, making her feel petite in comparison.

She had felt like a Queen earlier, entering the Great Hall in the beautiful dress the maid had helped her into. It was a deep gold, matching the stripes in the Baratheon plaid, and the way Stannis had looked at her made her body warm. He was not the golden beauty of an English Lord or the young knight she had once imagined marrying but he was somehow more…. Earthy, real and his deep voice did things to her she could not explain.

She could not push him from her mind. Earlier while the maid had helped her to clean her wound and to dress her, she had asked after the Laird and the maid said he was a good man, cold and just, but he protected his people and they loved him for it. 

A good man, Sansa noted, looking to the hard line of his nose and brow. He did not tell stories of victories or brag about his prowess in war (as his brother would have done), but instead he spoke thoughtfully and kindly, laughing with his friend. It was obvious he was close with Ser Davos, the friendship deep and lasting between the men. 

“It is beautiful” she said as she looked across the rolling hills that were now a blanket of snow. She had felt the chill in the air this morning as they departed on their journey but now the world had transformed into a sheet of white. 

“Aye” he nodded as her plaid slipped from her shoulder. He noticed and turned to pull the fabric back into place, his fingers brushing across her good shoulder. 

“Thank you” she looked back up at him with a smile and she could have lost herself in the depths of his eyes. They were warm, as she would not have expected a deep blue to be, and impossible to read. 

“Yer welcome” he said gruffly. 

They watched the snow in silence for several moments before she spoke, “If I am to be here for nearly a moon” she started. “I should like to help, in some way. I can sew quite well, knit, embroider and I can---”

“Lady Sansa” he said but she cut him off. 

“I do not like to be idle, My Lord” she told him. “I owe you my life already, I would like to help, in some small way.”

“Alright” he conceded. “Wit tha snows they will like need help ta knit an' sew.”

“I will be glad to help” she nodded, returning her gaze to the snow. A chill passed over her and she moved closer to his warmth, both of them silent as they enjoyed the private moment. 

“What do you mean MISSING?” Lord Eddard Stark, Ned, snapped at his good brother who stood, bruised and battered before him. 

“The men came from all directions, I told her to run and she did” Edmure stated. “She was on horseback the last I saw her. I, myself, spent days recovering and did not know where to search for her. I had hoped she made her way back here.”

“And you left her?” Ned counterd. “You left my daughter, a maid of ten and eight, ALONE in the Scottish Highlands?”

“Ned---”

“Cat always said you were a damned idiot, but I trusted you with my daughter,” Ned paced to the fireplace. “I cannot imagine what has befallen her. She is not Lyanna, she is not Arya” he rubbed his face. 

“I am sure that she is fine--”

“You cannot make that assumption” Ned scoffed. “We will go to Scotland and we will find her---”

“Father” Arya burst into the office, uncaring that the raised voices had been echoing in the hall. His youngest daughter held out a sealed raven and Ned’s heart raced as he took it. 

He was surprised to see the flaming stag sigil of Laird Stannis Baratheon, one of the fiercest Highlanders in Scotland. Breaking the seal he opened it to see a short missive; 

_ Lord Stark, be at ease that your daughter, Lady Sansa Stark, is safe and whole at Castle Storm’s End. Laird Baratheon has taken her in and personally seen to her safety. She escaped the Bolton men untouched and with only minor injury. She will be safe here until such a time you can escort her safely home. - Ser Davos Seaworth on behalf of Laird Stannis Baratheon. _

Relief coursed through him at the words. Ser Davos must have known what Ned would fear for his daughter and assured him that she had been neither raped or dishonored. Stannis Baratheon was an honorable man, loyal and just, she could not have fallen into better hands in the Highlands. 

Rolling the paper he looked to Edmure who looked very nervous. “It’s your lucky day, good brother” Ned told him. “She is alive and well at Castle Storm’s End. We will leave within the sennight.”

Laughter sounded from the Great Hall and Stannis entered to see the group of women around the large fireplace, all knitting or sewing some project in their lap. Davos’ wife Marya was beside Lady Sansa, the two of them working on two ends of a large blanket, laughing with the others. Around them on the floor were Davos’ younger sons, Maric and Devon, playing with their wooden toys.

“Marya adores yer lady” Davos chuckled beside him. 

“Ach” Stannis scoffed. “She is no mah Lady.”

“Ach” Davos mocked him. “She has been here a sennight and already they have taken her in” he motioned to the group of women. “Marya says her embroidery is perfect an' she has been a great help wit tha quilting.”

“Davos---”

“Ach” Davos cut him off with a mocking laugh as they continued through the Hall, carrying in the deer they managed to find in the woods. 

As they walked, Stannis turned to see Lady Sansa watching him with a smile. She raised her hand in a small wave and he answered it with a nod as he carried the deer to the kitchens. As he turned down the staircase he saw one of the maids say something to Lady Sansa and the lady’s cheeks went bright red before she shook her head and focused on her sewing once more. 

In the fortnight that Lady Sansa had been at Storm’s End he had selfishly taken every opportunity he could speak with her, to learn all he could about her. It was unfortunate for him that the more he learned about her, the more he did not want to let her go. Ever.

Though they initially been wary of the English woman, the Sassenach, soon she had settled in with the others perfectly. Marya adored her, so did the other wives, maids and Davos’ younger children.

She had also been a great help in making new clothes, blankets and scarves for all who needed them. Just yesterday he had come to his chambers after the evening meal to find a new, thick cowl on his bed waiting for him. She had noticed that he did not have one as the others did and made him one. He had touched the wool reverently, cherishing the first gift he had received since childhood. 

Tonight they would be enjoying a large feast to celebrate the Solstice, which meant music and dancing and Stannis would never admit it, but he was hoping to steal a dance with Lady Sansa, to steal a chance to hold her close. Davos’ jests be damned.

When Sansa joined the feast in the Great Hall it was already well underway. She chose to wear the rich golden gown once more, rather than the more modest wool gowns she had taken to wearing to help sew and knit. 

She watched the revelers as they celebrated. Davos and Marya were by the fireplace, surrounded by their 4 sons, Matthos, Dale, Maric and Devon who were all clearly excited to be celebrating. She spotted Stannis with them, his large form relaxing against the mantle of the fireplace. He wore a black coat and shirt, his plaid wrapped across his chest and around him, he looked like a dark warrior, even in repose. 

As she moved into the room Devon spotted her, running to her side. She bent to pick the 3 year old up, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder as she hugged him. He was talking quickly, telling her all about the food he had seen on the table. 

The others parted to clear her path to the Laird and when she joined them she greeted with a nod, keeping Devon in her arms. 

“My Lord” she smiled at Stannis and he gave her a warm smile of his own in greeting. 

Sewing with the other women, they had started to tease her about the Laird when they caught her making him a cowl to wear whilst hunting. She could only blush at their jests, unable to deny than she had developed a tendre for the Laird. She found herself seeking him out, enjoying stolen moments with him where they could be alone, and while nothing untoward would happen she was sure it would be a scandal if any in England learned of it. 

Soon her shoulder began to ache and she set a pouting Devon back onto the floor and he joined his brothers, picking up his toy horse. 

“Do ye dance, Lady Sansa?” Stannis asked her and she gave a small nod. 

“I do, though I may not know the steps,” she looked to the dancers moving in a Scottish reel. 

“I will teach ye” he offered his hand and she took it, his calloused hand warm around hers. She followed him to the floor and did her best to match the steps, laughing as he pulled her into his embrace and moved her through the others. She savoured the brief moment of warmth and his leather and lemon scent before they moved apart once more. 

When the song ended he offered his arm and she took it, moving to his side with a wide smile and cheeks that ached from laughing. When they reached the fireside, before she could remove her hand from Stannis’ arm his hand came over hers, holding it in place. 

Looking to his deep blue eyes he asked her without words if that was alright, and she smiled brightly, squeezing the muscle of his forearm. Yes, it is perfectly alright, her hand told him. His mouth twitched in a near smile as they moved back to Davos and Marya together. 

Stannis had watched her throughout the feast, when she was not at his side. She talked with his people as if she had known them for years, calling most by name and genuinely enjoying herself. After each conversation she would return to his side and inevitably her hand would find his arm. He had indulged himself, stroking his thumb over the smooth skin of her hand, an affectionate gesture he was unfamiliar with. 

She did not mind, in fact more often than not her hand would tighten on his forearm in response. They were having entire conversations, sharing thoughts without speaking and it made his heart lighter. 

“Come” he said closely to her ear, sneaking her away from the festivity and to the large terrace along the back of the keep overlooking the now-frozen Loch Cressen. It was the solstice which meant the moon was full, large and clear, illuminating the world around them. 

“It’s beautiful” she said softly, looking out across the loch. “I never imagined the Highlands held such beauty until I visited my cousin Jon a moon’s turn ago. I find myself quite attached to its beauty.”

“I, as well, find myself attached to its beauty,” he said, unable to look away from her. She seemed to glow in the moonlight and the happiness in her eyes was enough to break a lesser man. 

Blushing she looked to him, “My Lord” she whispered shyly. 

Before they could continue, shouting broke out in the Hall and they ran inside to see two drunken men locked in a fight. Stannis growled in frustration as he dove into the middle, separating the men. 

“Haud yer wheesht!” he hissed at them, throwing one away from the other to end the fight. “What are ye doin’? Eh?” he glared at them. “Both of ye, out” he ordered them. “An its wall duty for tha both of ye!”

He turned back to see Sansa picking up a worried Devon, holding him against her hip and his heart clenched. He wanted that, that picture of beauty, woman and child, for his own. He wanted her, with an ache he had never experienced and with a depth that terrified, he wanted that woman for his own. 

But she was a Lady, and English Noblewoman and soon her Father would come for her and take her away. Were he a scoundrel he would seduce her, ruin her and trap her at his side, but he could never trap her, never dampen her beautiful spirit. 

Grief coursed over him and he turned away from the sight of her with the child in her arms and stormed from the hall. He had to prepare himself for the loss of her, somehow and someway, though he did not know how to begin to do that. 

Sansa stood in her chambers, the ones down the hall from the master’s own, and stared out the small window. She had managed to hold her tears at bay until she had barred her door, then allowed herself to cry silently at the evening’s turn. 

She had been ready for him to steal a kiss on the balcony, and she would have let him had the fight not broken out in the Hall. He touch throughout the night had sent shivers through her, both calming and exciting her as they enjoyed the feast. 

Wiping her eyes with the corner of the plaid, his plaid, she held it tighter around her shoulders to ward off the chill. She was happy here, truly happy and at peace. Stannis’ people were kind, caring and she had a purpose here. By day she was able to enjoy her work with the women, with Marya and the boys and in the evenings she ate beside Stannis and they would converse by the fire after the evening meal. 

There was no glitz and finery of London, but genuine people who treated her as a person rather than an ornament. 

She was happy, she swallowed another wave of tears. And she did not want to go. 

Were he to ask, she would stay with him forever. She would share her life with him and he would be hers to keep, to never have to be parted from. 

She had heard rumor once, in London, of women seducing men, trapping them in marriage but she could never do that. She had neither the skill nor the guile to do such a thing. She would hate for Stannis to resent her forever, to resent their life together. 

Turning from the window she moved the the fur beside the small fireplace, curling up on its plush softness and covering herself with Stannis’ plaid. There she prayed, silently and vehemently, for the Gods to spare her heart. 

Stannis looked up as Davos entered his small study, a frown on his face, “What’s wrong?” Stannis asked his oldest friend. 

“Lord Stark has entered tha gates” Davos said solemnly. 

“So soon” Stannis frowned deeply as he stood. 

“Aye” Davos nodded. “His family are used ta the cold, I ‘uppose.”

“I will fetch Lady Sansa---”

“You love ‘er, den?” Davos asked. 

“Davos” Stannis sighed, clenching his jaw. 

“Did ye ask her ta stay?” 

“She is a Lady, an' I---”

“And ye are a Laird o’ an ancient ‘ouse!” Davos countered. 

“It's no’ that simple!”

“Aye, tis!” Davos grabbed Stannis’ shoulders firmly. “Ask her, ‘afore its too late!”

Stannis gave a curt nod, his heart racing as moved to the study to find Lady Sansa. He did not have much time left with her, certainly less time than he had expected and he was terrified to lose her forever. 

Moving through the castle he found her in her golden dress, the dark Baratheon plaid around her shoulders to ward off the chill as she watched the loch from the terrace. She looked like a true Baratheon bride, wrapped in his family colors with her fiery hair gleaming in the morning sun. 

“My Lord” she turned to greet him as he approached and he could see the sadness in her eyes. 

“Ye ken then?” he frowned. 

“What?”

“Yer father ‘as come” he said softly. 

“Oh” she frowned. “No, I was not aware” she shook her head and looked to the loch once more, eyes filled with tears. 

“Sansa” he moved closer, taking her hand in his. “Ye ‘ave to ken, I dinnae want ye ta go---”

“Lemon cake” Lord Stark’s voice cut into their conversation and Stannis dropped her hand, defeat and fury coursing through him. 

“Father” Sansa stared at her father in shock, feeling the loss of Stannis’ hand on her acutely. 

“I have missed you” her father kissed her forehead before turning to Stannis. “Laird Baratheon” he extended his hand and Stannis shook it firmly. “I am more than grateful for your coming to my daughter’s aid.”

“I am glad ta be of help” Stannis said, taking a step back. She wanted to grab him, to keep him close but she could not force her body to move. She had been shocked into place at his words, that he didn’t want her to go. What did that mean? She wanted to cry out but her body seemed lost in a fog. 

“We should depart, we have enough daylight to return to the Inn before nightfall” her Father said resolutely. “Come” he took her arm and guided her away from Stannis. 

_No_ her mind screamed but her father’s arm came around her waist and she could only turn back to see Stannis’ watching her with dark eyes, hands clenched as he stood still. 

Uncle Edmure was waiting near the carriage in the courtyard and she swallowed a lump in her throat as her father spoke to him, readying their departure. 

“I was worried that you would be kidnapped” her Father said softly. “That you would have been hurt, my daughter.”

“No” she said weakly. “I have been well cared for here.”

“And you are not….compromised?” he asked her, eyes searching hers. 

“No” she shook her head lamely, tears in her eyes. She wished she had been, she wished Stannis had taken her, made her his...but it was too late. 

“When we return I will see to finding you a proper husband” her Father assured her warmly as he helped her into the carriage and she felt her throat constrict. Looking back to the keep as her Father climbed inside she choked on a sob at the sight of Stannis atop the stone stairs, watching her as the door closed. 

The carriage jolted into movement, moving back down the path and she felt panic bubble in her veins at the same time everything seemed to clear. The fog around her lifted and she screamed, “STOP! STOP!! NOW!” her voice echoed in her ears as the carriage shuddered to a stop. 

“Sansa---”

“No! No...NO!” she shook her head, hands trembling as she shoved open the door, evading her Father’s grasp. She stumbled from the carriage and to the snow, barely able to keep her footing. Turning back she saw Stannis take a hesitant step down the Castle’s stairs, his expression unsure... 

She sobbed as she started to run, moving back to him, to Stannis, uncaring that the plaid on her arms fell away to the snow. She grabbed her golden skirt, lifting it to move faster. She laughed as tears flooded her cheeks when Stannis moved down the steps to meet her. 

She did not stop, his words, _I dinnae want ye ta go_ echoing in her ears as she jumped into his arms. He caught her high against his chest, holding her tight as she buried her face against his neck. Her feet dangled free as he held her and she felt like she was flying. 

“Ask me to stay” she sobbed. 

“Stay” he said without hesitation, his deep voice rumbling through her. 

“Forever?”

“Foreva” he echoed and she laughed, covering his face in kisses. She did not care that her Father and the whole of Castle Storm’s End was watching them, she was in Stannis’ arms and he was holding her.

“I love you, I love you, I love you” she whispered, kissing his cheek, jaw and chin before pulling back to look into his midnight eyes. 

“Aye lass, an' I love ye” he smiled as she cried with joy. Her cries faded away as he kissed her lips, the sounds of cheers echoing on the ramparts around them. 

Stannis had felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest as the carriage pulled away. And it had, as it was in the carriage with her. She owned his heart and he would never be able to recover from this. He had told her he did not want her to go but she said nothing, did nothing. 

When the carriage abruptly halted he felt hope bubble in his veins, and when her slender form spilled from the doorway he felt his legs moving, taking a step toward her. Then, as suddenly as she appeared she was running, running _to_ him. Her shawl fell away and then he was moving, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. 

She never slowed, launching herself into his arms and he caught her, holding her from the ground, high enough that her head rose above his own. She was in his arms, she was his and he was not going to let her go. 

“Ask me to stay” she cried and he had never responded so quickly in his life. A moment later she was covering his face in kisses, her soft lips running over his skin. “I love you” she whispered over and over and he could have dropped to the snow and sobbed with happiness. 

“Aye lass, an' I love ye” he promised her, guiding her lips to his in their first kiss. He could barely hear the men around them cheering as pleasure rushed through him. She met his kiss with her own, her arms tight around his neck and shoulders as she clung to him. 

He kissed her with abandon, without care and with the intention of never stopping. But the loud noise of someone clearing their throat repeatedly forced them apart. Seeing Lord Stark’s glare Stannis reluctantly lowered Sansa to her feet, but he held her close, an arm around her waist keeping her at his side. 

“Well now” Lord Stark frowned. 

“Father” Sansa said softly. “I cannot leave” she shook her head. “I will not leave.”

At this Lord Stark’s glare softened, “You love him?” 

“I do” Sansa replied, tears in her eyes. “And I will not be parted from him”

“And you, Laird Baratheon?” Lord Stark asked. 

“I love ‘er, enough to no’ have dishonored ‘er ta keep ‘er, Lord Stark” he replied honestly. 

After a long pause Lord Stark exhaled and gave a small nod, “Well then, it looks as if my departure will be delayed long enough to see my daughter wed.”

At this Sansa laughed with joy, moving to hug her Father before moving back to Stannis’ side, smiling up at him, “My Highland husband” she whispered. 

“Mah Sassenach wife” he smiled back at her, pulling her close. 

The entire Great Hall of Castle Storm’s End was filled to bursting with Stannis’ people, all of whom came out to watch their Laird marry the Sassenach girl he had carried home nearly a moon’s turn ago. 

They held hands beside the firelight as the Septon lead the ceremony. Stannis watched his bride intently, soaking in every detail of her beauty. From the rich black of her gown, the stag at her slip of a waist and to the golden circlet in her fiery hair, she was the most beautiful being he had beheld. 

Behind her, her father stood, having entrusted her to Stannis’ care a moment ago after he lead her down the aisle. 

“Ye may now cloak tha bride an' bring ‘er under yer protection” the Septon spoke and Stannis turned to Davos who held the great kilt of the Baratheon colors. Stannis took it and unfurled the fabric, draping it over her shoulders. Though Sansa had worn his house colors before, now she did so as his bride and he had to swallow a lump of emotion before he burst into tears. “Look upon one another an' speak tha words.”

Their hands joined once more and they spoke together, her eyes filled with love as they were finally husband and wife. 

“I love ye” he whispered as she moved into his embrace. 

“And I love you, husband” she said as he leaned down and sealed their vows with a soft, loving kiss. The Great Hall burst into cheers around them, the Highlanders kicking off the grand celebration with a burst of music as food began to pour into the Hall on tray after tray. 

Stannis turned to shake Davos’ hand as Lord Stark hugged his daughter, offering her words of congratulations as they moved to the large table to start the wedded feast. 

Sansa could never remember being happier than she was in this moment. She was in her husband's arms, his strong body leading her in a dance, their first as husband and wife. Stannis Baratheon, her very own Highlander, to keep forever. 

His hand splayed widely on her back and she moved closer, her skirt brushing his kilt as they moved. He wore a fine coat of black with a deep golden waistcoat above his kilt. His sword, one he called ‘Lightbringer’ hung at his side as always and he was more handsome than ever. He had trimmed his beard a bit, but it still covered his chin in dark black and silver. 

“Husband” she smiled up at him. 

“Aye, wife?”

“You’re stuck with me now” she teased. 

“Ach” he scoffed and she laughed at the chortling sound. “Wait until tha ‘hole of England learns I’ve stolen their most beau’iful lass” he smiled. 

“I was yours from the moment you rode through that field like the Warrior himself” she promised. 

“All fire and fury, ye were” he raised a hand to stroke her cheek as the music stopped. She reached up to cover his hand with her own, leaning into his touch. 

“The Gods brought you to me that day” she whispered. “I had never been so scared and then there you were.”

“Aye lass, an' I will never leave ye” he promised in return. She smiled brightly as the music began once more, this time an upbeat tune that had others flooding in to dance around them. 

Silently her husband offered his arm and she took it, following him as he led her from the dancers. His hand slipped into hers as he guided her to the stairs and then away from the celebration. 

As they moved further away from the music, the sound of the feast grew muddled, distant. At the top of the stairs he pulled her into his embrace, bending to lift her into his arms and carry her into the Master’s chambers, kicking the door shut behind him. 

He lowered her to her feet but kept her close, bending down to take her lips softly at first and then deeper, tasting her with such a passion that she had to wrap her arms around his neck to hold herself up. 

His hands traveled her back, one moving into her hair as the other pulled her against his body. She whimpered at the feel of him against her, her strong husband holding her intimately in the privacy of their rooms. 

She was nervous, unsure of how their wedded night would go. Though she knew the basics she was still a maid and would have to trust his lead as they made love. 

When the need for air had him pulling back, he never took his eyes off of her as his hands moved to pull the circlet from her hair and set is aside on the night table. He then discarded his coat and sword, as her hands moved to the buttons of his waistcoat. She could feel the heat of his body, the hard planes of his muscle as she parted the fabric. 

Once his waistcoat fell away, his shirt and hose soon joined, leaving him only in the black and gold plaid. She marvelled at the sight of her husband’s bare chest and the dusting of silver and black hair across the muscles honed by battle. He was broad and lean and unbidden her hand followed the trail of hair to the top of his kilt where she could see the evidence of his arousal below the fabric. 

“Sansa” he kissed her briefly before turning her to reach the laces of her gown. She pulled the weight of her hair aside and felt him work quickly to untie the dress and the corset below, pushing them away to leave her in her shift. “You are so beau'iful” he pulled her back to his chest, his hands traveling over her body. 

“Stannis” she gasped as his hands cupped her breasts through the thin material. His fingers teased the peaks and she felt the touch echo through her to pool low in her stomach. “Husband” she said breathlessly as his lips trailed over her neck. 

He was whispering then, in a lilting language that she didn’t understand but the words were filled with such emotion they made her legs weak. She leaned heavily against him and one of his strong arms banded around her stomach to hold her up. 

“I have wanted ye from the verra first moment I laid eyes on ye” he whispered, pulling her shift to the side to kiss across her shoulder. “Mah impossibly beau’iful wife.”

“Gods” she cursed softly as he nipped her collarbone with his teeth as he untied her shift. A strong hand then slipped inside the front, cupping her breast, skin to skin, for the first time. She gasped and arched against him, her head lolling back to meet his bare shoulder. 

“Mine” he kissed her temple, the soft hair of his beard brushing against her ear as he moved back to her shoulder. With his great height he would be able to see over her and watch as he teased her and the thought had her sagging against him. He rolled and plucked her nipples until she was panting for breath. 

“Stannis” she cried out. 

“Wife” his hands were now moving to take the hem of her shift and pull it over head, before unlacing her small clothes, leaving her only in her stockings and garters in his arms. 

He lifted her once more but instead of going to their bed he lay her on the furs before the fire before moving over her. She flushed deeply as he knelt between her thighs, his eyes raking over every bare inch of her, midnight blue dark now with desire. 

“Husband” she reached out to run her hand over the muscles of his stomach. 

“Ye are perfection” he ran his hands over her thighs, moving back to part them. “And ye are al’ mine, lass.”

“Stannis!” she cried out in surprise and pleasure as he kissed her inner thigh, his beard sending a tickling sensation through her as it brushed her sensitive flesh. She cried once more when he turned to lap at her folds, the wet sound of his kisses filling the room. 

His hands held her thighs wide as he teased her and her hands found purchase on the leg of the chair above her head, anchoring her as she panted in pleasure. The light of the fire illuminated his strong shoulders and arms, revealing every moment he made to pleasure her. 

She gasped his name with a thick finger slid into her channel, gently probing and stroking the flesh inside of her. Her body felt overheated and out of control as he devoured her, his ministrations sending fire through her until she was all but screaming his name. It broke like a tidal wave, bliss washing over her as she shook violently against him. 

“Aye, lass” he lapped her once more before pulling back to look down at her once more. She could barely move, breathing heavily as he smiled smugly at her. She released the chair legs and watched as he unpinned his kilt and unfolded the fabric to reveal himself to her for the first time. Sansa barely registered him wiping his beard on the fabric, as her gaze was locked on the long, thick length of him standing proudly before her. 

Moving to her elbow she reached forward to hesitantly stroke the flesh, marvelling at the velvet over steel that she had not expected. His hand folded over hers, gently guiding her on how to work him and soon he was harder in her hand, his head lolling back as he growled. 

“Stannis” she leaned up and he lowered himself to meet her, kissing her deeply as she stroked him. She mewled softly as his tongue invaded her mouth, allowing her to taste the wine they’re shared at dinner and the warmth of her husband. 

“Here or tha bed” he asked her, his voice rough with desire. 

“Here” she said. “I can see all of you here.” 

“Aye, an' I all of ye” he crawled over her, moving his hips to hers as she released him and lay back on the furs. 

Stannis never wanted to leave this moment, this private haven where it was only the two of them and nothing else in the world. His bonnie bride was even more stunning without her dress and she screamed his name beautifully as she came against his mouth. She was perfection and he could not wait to be inside of her. 

He braced an elbow on the fur beside her, his hand moving to cradle her head as the other hand grabbed his cock and aligned it with her core. 

“I will be as gentle as I can” he promised her and she nodded, eyes full of trust. At that he moved forward, finding her soaked entrance easily and moving his hips. The blunt head of him slipped inside of her and he felt her stiffen. He paused bracing his other elbow beside her, both hands cradling her head in comfort. 

When he felt her relax he moved slowly, stretching her as he slid inside. He felt the barrier of her maidenhead against him and he braced himself. He never wanted to hurt her but this was necessary and after this he would never hurt her again. 

“I am alright” she ran her hands up his chest as she adjusted her legs, holding them wider and lifting them. He gave a nod and pressed his forehead to hers as he relaxed his hips and sank into her, tearing through her barrier and filling her completely. 

“That’s it, lass” he soothed her as she gasped in pain. “Tis done.” He was still for several moments and felt her hands relax against his chest, stroking the flesh once more. “Yer well?”

“It does not hurt” she said quietly. “It feels...strange.”

“Aye” he agreed. “Yer right full o’ me, wife.”

“I am” she smiled, kissing him quickly as her expression turned serious. “I thought of this before,” she admitted. “Of seducing you so you would have to marry me, so I could stay but I had no idea what to do.”

He felt his heart swell at the confession, “And I though’ to seduce ye, to trap ye wit me foreva’.”

Her blue eyes were bright with love, “Make love to me, husband.”

“As ye wish” he kissed her deeply and slowly rocked his hips. He was barely moving, allowing her to grow used to the movement. Her body was warm and wet around him, gripping him as he moved. “Wrap yer legs ‘round me” he told her and she obeyed, her surprisingly long legs winding around him and allowing him deeper, moving in longer strokes. 

Her hands trailed to his back before gripping his shoulders, blunt nails digging into his flesh as she grew used to his cock inside of her and the discomfort melted away. When her hips began to rise to meet his downward strokes he groaned in pleasure and moved up on his knees, sitting back on his heels. He pulled her up with him, her legs tight around him and arms going around his shoulders as his hands moved to her ass, helping her to ride him. 

“Stannis” she cried as she moved over him. She was glorious, his wife, her head thrown back, fiery curls shining in the firelight. 

“Aye lass, take yer pleasure o’ me” he helped her move. He watched her in awe, unable to believe that this incredible woman was his, and only his, forever. He never could have imagined as he went to hunt that morning that his life would change forever, that he would meet a woman he would love more than anything in this world or the next. 

Her body held the rhythm now and his hands wandered her body. Thighs, back, waist, breasts, even the slender curve of her throat, he worshipped all of her. She clung to the muscles of his neck and shoulders, whimpers melting to gasps and then to cries of pleasure as she moved. Gone was the proper English rose and in her place was a woman lost to the feel of her husband’s cock inside of her. 

“Stannis!” she gasped then cried out, loudly and he hoped there was no one in the hall to hear. 

He moved a hand to where they were joined, seeking out the bundle of nerves above her opening and he knew the moment he found it, as her screams filled the room. He used the pad of his thumb to circle and stroke her and when her blue eyes screwed tightly shut he knew she was close. 

“Let it take ye” he soothed her, encouraged her, all the while moving his thumb in steady motions. A few movements later her eyes shot open, locking on his as she slid over him and screamed her pleasure. He felt her clenching around him, inner muscles fluttering then clamping as she gasped and screamed his name. The feel and sight of her pulled him over the edge with her and he used his free hand to hold her close as he spilled inside of her, coating her with his seed. He groaned in pleasure as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing their bodies together as she held him tight. “Mah wife” he smoothed his hands over her back before hugging her back. 

“I love you” she whispered against his flesh, her soft lips placing a kiss on his shoulder. 

“I love ye” he kissed her shoulder in turn. 

When he felt himself slip from her body he carefully moved, standing with her wrapped around him to carry her to the bed. Laying her on the sheets he grabbed a rag from the washstand to carefully clean her and then himself before he slid into bed beside her. 

“Stannis” she sighed and snuggled into his side. 

“Hmm?” but she didn’t reply. When he looked down at his wife in his arms he smiled, as she was fast asleep, sated and relaxed against him. Holding her tightly he allowed sleep to take him, knowing that she would be there when he awoke. 

“Slow down ya wee beastie!” Stannis called after his son, Steffon as he ran across the grass. Steffon did not slow, only laughed and continued their game. Steffon was nearly 2 years old now, a wedding night gift he suspected, as he was born nearly nine moons to the sennight after they wed. Steffon’s fiery curls bounced as he moved and Stannis gave chase, leaning down to scoop the boy up. Steffon squealed with laughter as Stannis swung him through the air. 

While it has surprised Sansa to see their son born with a shock of red hair, Stannis had only laughed. His own mother, Cassana had fiery hair as well, a true Scottish lass she had been, and Steffon’s was nearly the same shade as hers, brighter than Sansa’s own. 

They were enjoying the summer day beside Loch Cressen, perhaps one of the last they could before Sansa’s time came. Stannis turned to see his wife smiling from the shade of the tree behind them. 

She was heavily pregnant once more, relaxing on her side (the only position she was comfortable in these days), head on a pillow atop a large quilt as she watched them. Her hand was cradling the heavy weight of her stomach, absently stroking the fabric of her dress. He smiled back at her before he returned to entertaining their son. 

The two years since they had married were the happiest of his life. Having her at his side, a woman partner to him in every way, made everyday brighter. She had settled into life at Storm’s End as easily as she had upon her initial arrival. She worked with the women, worked with him to keep everything moving smoothly. 

Shortly after Steffon was born the keep was descended upon by Starks. The entire family spilled out of two carriages to rush to Sansa’s side, marvelling over Little Steffon and finally meeting Sansa’s husband. It had been quite the adventure, having them underfoot, and Arya especially had been loathe to leave the Highlands when time came. 

He supposed sometime soon they would descend once more, their numbers greater as Robb had wed this year. He would have to brace himself for their invasion. 

“Stannis!” Sansa called to him and he turned to see her sitting up, hand on her stomach as she grimaced. 

“Bugger it” he grabbed Steffon and ran to her side. 

“My waters have come” she said softly. 

“Alright,” he nodded and set Steffon on the grass to help her to stand. Gathering the quilt and pillow under one arm, the other went around her waist to help her. “Steffon, come mah boy” he smiled and Steffon toddled alongside him as they followed the path back to the keep. 

Sansa gasped with pain as another pain hit her, this one stronger than the last and she knew she would soon have to push. Steffon was downstairs playing with Davos’ youngest son Little Stannis, who was born only a moon after Steffon. The boys were as close as brothers and Sansa was grateful for that, as it allowed for her husband to be with her. 

He had been there for Steffon’s birth, holding her tight as she screamed in pain and he would be here once more. Her warrior was a good man at heart, one who promised never to leave her alone in the birthing bed if she would not leave him in the same. 

So here she sat, at the edge of the bed in the birthing room, her husband behind her holding her against his chest. 

“Aye, m’lady” the midwife nodded as Sansa felt another pain. “Be ready ta push.”

“Stannis” she grabbed her husband’s hands as she took a deep breath and bore down. His deep voice soothed her, gave her strength as she labored to bring their child into the world. It was shorter than Steffon’s birth and she sobbed in relief when she felt their child slip free of her body.

The midwife worked quickly and soon cries were filling the room. Sansa looked to see the head of the squalling babe, this time with a full head of deep black hair. 

“We have a daugh'r, wife” Stannis whispered to her and she blinked away tears of joy. 

“A girl” she sobbed. 

“Aye” he kissed her cheek, uncaring she was covered in sweat and tears. “A bonnie lass.”

Hours later found them relaxing in their bedroom. Sansa’s body exhausted but elated and the little girl they added to their family. He had carried his wife to bed after her bath and carefully brought their daughter to her, laying her in her arms to nurse. 

“She is beautiful” Sansa stared down at the bundle in her arms. Steffon was asleep across the foot of their bed, having fallen asleep during his visit to say ‘goodnight’ and Stannis was loathe to move him. He rather liked having his family together. 

“She is” he agreed, watching the black haired bairn suckle happily from Sansa’s breast. The first time he had watched Sansa feed Steffon after his birth Stannis had cried with happiness and he was not ashamed to say he felt the burn in his eyes once again. 

Sansa never looked more beautiful than she did in these private moments. Holding their hours-old daughter to her breast, stroking the bairns cheek softly and whispered soft words of love, this was his family, his love. 

He looked up to see Sansa watching him now, smiling softly at catching him watching their daughter. She reached over to take his hand, guiding him to her side and he sat partially behind her, both of them looking down at the beauty of Cassana Baratheon. 

Stannis rest his chin on Sansa’s shoulder, nuzzling her neck softly before returning to watch their daughter. 

“I love you” Sansa whispered. “I never would have been able to stop myself from loving you, Stannis Baratheon.”

“My Sassenach” he said affectionately and he heard her soft laugh. “Had you no’ stopped tha carriage, I’d ‘ave invaded England ta drag ye back ta me.”

“The whole of England couldn’t keep me away” she turned to kiss his temple, leaning her forehead against him with a smile. “And when we’re ready, I want at least 3 more of these” she looked to the babe in her arms. 

“Ach woman, I am an ol’ man” he smiled, wrapping an arm around her. “I’ll give ye as many bairns as ye want, love, so long as I can have ye to m’self at night.”

“That can be arranged” she smiled as he cupped her cheek and kissed her softly. She sighed against his lips and, as it always did, his heart clenched at the simple sound of her affection. He held her and their daughter until it was time to return Cassana to her cradle, then he gently lay his daughter down, tucking her in before moving back to Sansa’s side, holding his wife close as they slipped into slumber together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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